


Third Time's the Charm

by Sohotthateveryonedied



Series: Whumptober 2019 [6]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Prompt: Dragged Away, Prompt: Shackled, Violence, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-25 23:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20920349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied
Summary: “You holding up over there, Robin?” Batman asks as he pegs one of Malone’s goons in the face with a batarang.Tim grins toothily, extending his bo staff. “Shit yeah, boss. I could beat up half of these guys in my sleep.”It’s Tim fourth week as Batman’s official third Robin. Well—three weeks and two days, to be exact, but we’re rounding up here.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Day 6: Dragged Away

“You holding up over there, Robin?” Batman asks as he pegs one of Malone’s goons in the face with a batarang.   
  
Tim grins toothily, extending his bo staff. “Shit yeah, boss. I could beat up half of these guys in my sleep.”   
  
It’s Tim fourth week as Batman’s official third Robin. Well—three weeks and two days, to be exact, but we’re rounding up here. Why Bruce continues to doubt that Tim can hold his own in a fight, he’ll never know. Can’t wait until he gets over it, though.   
  
_“Language,”_ Batman warns. “And you’re not even using it right.”  
  
“I’m a young child fighting armed men with machine guns on a school night, but_ foul language_ is where you draw the line? Seriously?”  
  
“They’re my rules.” Bruce knocks a gun out of a henchman’s hand and snaps it over his knee before doing the same with the man’s arm. “I can make them whatever I want.”  
  
Tim curls his lip in a faux pout. “This system is rigged.” He swipes one guy’s feet out from under him and the man faceplants hard, sprawling on the ground. Tim gives his Dickiest wink and quips, “Bet you didn’t see that coming, jerkface.” He catches Bruce’s eye roll, but there’s a lightness to it. _  
__  
__Batman needs a Robin. _  
  
So far, Tim can say he’s filling that role marvelously. If he had known before that unrestricted violence could be so much fun, he’d have forced his way into the role months ago. Or at least bought more violent video games.   
  
As he thunks heads and throws birdarangs, Tim runs through his timetable. This fight will no doubt require a ton of cleanup and dealing with the authorities afterward, which adds an hour. Make it an hour and a half to accommodate for Bruce’s inevitable lengthy chat with Commissioner Gordon.   
  
Honestly, what is it with old dads and talking about their kids’ accomplishments every time they meet? Who cares if Barbara is taking advanced university courses and Nightwing took down a whole drug cartel by himself last month? Tim will never understand old people.   
  
Okay, okay. Focus. So he needs to have his _Sense and Sensibility _essay finished by fourth period tomorrow, but if he does that then he won’t have time to do his AP algebra homework. Not to mention_ sleep_.   
  
He vaults off the back of one guy and swings his leg directly into the throat of another—one of Jason’s old moves. Tim spent a whole week studying that twenty-nine-second video clip and practicing the move before he managed to master it himself.   
  
A henchman with a very Danny Zuko-esque hairstyle goes down with one hit, and Tim makes a note to hack the street’s security cameras and send a pic to Dick later. (He always gets a kick out of making fun of bad guys.)  
  
He checks the time on a clock hooked into the front window of a nearby bar. It’s 1:37 in the morning. This fight’s been going on longer than Tim thought.   
  
Fine, so he’ll cut out sleeping altogether. He’ll bullshit the essay and do every other question on the homework to account for the lost time. He’ll get mediocre grades on both, but if he pulls through in gym for the rest of the semester it should make up for the difference.   
  
No sleep will be a hassle, but if it gets too bad he can clock in a quick nap during lunch.   
  
Bruce throws a goon Tim’s way, and Tim responds with a swift hook kick. Only a month in and already they fight together so smoothly. They’re fluid, like two cogs in the same perfect machine.   
  
Tim is so in the zone and simultaneously _out _of the zone, running through fighting techniques and tomorrow’s schedule at the same time. It’s why he doesn’t hear the laughter. Bruce does, though, and Tim sees the jolt of panic in the way his eyes blow under the cowl; the way his spine stiffens like a rod.   
  
“Robin!” he barks, shifting in character so acutely it gives Tim whiplash. He swears Bruce just forgot about the current fight. “Leave now.”  
  
Tim’s eyebrows crinkle beneath the domino. He’s panting. “What?”  
  
“You heard me. Go straight to the batmobile and comm A to set it to autopilot and take you home. That’s an order.”   
  
“Why? I can still fight.” He hears Joker’s voice more clearly now. A heinous cackle that sends shivers rippling down Tim’s spine even as he steadies his shoulders to hide the instinctive fear.  
  
“No,” Batman says. “I’m not having you anywhere _near _that madman. Now get the hell out of here.” _Language, _Tim doesn’t say. Bruce turns away from Tim, already scanning the streets for the clown. The laughter is echoey and distant—impossible to pinpoint where it’s coming from.   
  
Tim’s eyes narrow, but he does as told and traces his steps back to where the car is parked in the next alley over. He’s slumped, as exhausted as he is irritated. If Bruce is so freaked out by the idea of Tim and Joker being in the same thirty-mile radius, why let him out as Robin at all? Make up your mind, old man.   
  
Tim finds the car, but he also finds something else that catches his attention. A wire spans the length of the alley wall about four point eight feet above Tim’s head, its power source an outlet connected to the small grocery store at the corner. Tim raises his head and follows the wire with his eyes until they widen.   
  
_Ah._   
  
Across the street from where Batman currently stands is a speaker; dark and barely detectable where it’s camouflaged against a rusted-over hardware store sign. Three buildings over and Tim spies another. And another.   
  
The pieces click into place, but leave more questions than answers. At least it’s clear now that Joker isn’t actually in the vicinity, which ceases about 66% of Tim’s anxiety. But why would someone want Batman to think the Joker _was _here? What purpose does that serve when the dozen henchmen are already unconscious on the ground?  
  
Tim prepares to shout the all-clear, but before he can, something blunt strikes the back of the head and he collapses forward with a grunt.   
  
He falls to his knees, scraping his palm against gravel in the process as fireworks burst behind his eyelids. His head is spinning, and the pain in the back of his head pulses like a fresh bruise. Which it most likely is.   
  
“That...wasn’t nice,” Tim forces out with a barely-disguised groan. “Makes me think you don’t like me or something.” Footsteps behind him: heavy, close, clearly belonging to his attacker.   
  
Tim pushes himself up on one elbow, struggling to get his legs under him. He’s so dizzy, he wonders if he’ll just fall over again the second he’s upright. That would be embarrassing.   
  
A knife through his leg makes the decision for him. Tim screams as the blade slices through the flesh and muscle of his calf, driving every fleeting thought straight from his head and into the atmosphere.   
  
Tim would gladly scream for eternity or until his leg stops sending _ow, ow, OW _signals to his brain. Before he gets to ponder the merits of the action, a hand clamps over his mouth, silencing him.   
  
“Shut up!” the man who’s got him hisses into Tim’s ear—his breath warm, gross, and giving Tim goosebumps.   
  
The knife is ripped out, and Tim shrieks into the gloved palm. Something warm drips down the fabric of his uniform, and he knows it’s blood.   
  
_It’s okay, _Tim assures himself. _Dick’s been stabbed plenty of times. Jason’s been through way worse. This is nothing. _  
  
It certainly doesn’t feel like nothing. Tim feels humiliating tears beading at the corners of his eyes from the pain, and he knows this must make him the weakest Robin in existence. One measly knife wound and he’s crying like a third grader with an owie? Pathetic.   
  
It finally occurs to Tim to send a distress signal for Bruce to come save him, but as he reaches for the button sewn into the edge of his glove, the man grabs his hand and clenches Tim’s wrist in a bruising grip. He pins Tim’s arm to his side and snakes his arm around Tim’s torso, rendering him immobile. Tim is powerless to stop himself from being dragged back, deeper into the alley.  
  
_Am I being kidnapped? Is this what being kidnapped feels like? Can Robins even _get _kidnapped? _  
  
“Yo!” a new voice yells from behind Tim and his kidnapper. “Get him in the car, man, we have to go!”  
  
_I can’t be kidnapped, my parents are supposed to come back from Brazil tomorrow night. They haven’t been home in weeks. We were supposed to get ice cream. __  
__  
__Will they even notice that I’m missing?_  
  
The man holding Tim starts to drag him backward, and Tim is _positive_ he’s being kidnapped. They’re going to take him away in a van, and Bruce is never going to find him because Tim took the tracker out of his belt last week when he snuck out to see an R-rated movie with Ives, and kept forgetting to put it back in. Like an idiot.   
  
So Tim struggles. He takes every ounce of energy he has stored in his pint-sized, aching body and channels it into squirming his way out of the arms surrounding him. He kicks and bites and screams into the hand muffling him, _anything _to get Bruce’s attention.   
  
The man bellows out a curse when Tim gets a lucky kick to his crotch, and he’s dropped on his bad leg. Tim locks a groan behind his teeth and scrambles to get away.   
  
_“Batman! _Batman, _hel—”_  
  
He’s kicked in the side with a heavy boot, and it knocks the air right out of him. Tim coughs and struggles to catch his breath, but that’s when a hand lands on Tim’s shoulder and digs in harshly, pulling him back.  
  
With one leg down and what’s gotta be a forming concussion, Tim is at a serious disadvantage here. He struggles against the man’s grip, but the other guy has come over and is shoving a gag into Tim’s mouth, muffling his screams.  
  
“Shut him up!” the first guy hisses.   
  
There’s a clatter that must be the pipe that hit him in the head the first time being picked back up. The man raises it over Tim’s head, preparing to bring it down—because _everyone_ wants to give Tim a concussion today, apparently.   
  
_Bruce,_ is Tim’s last thought before pain explodes in his head and the world fades to black.   
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 9: Shackled 
> 
> I know this is fourteen minutes late, but I've had a hard week so whatever. Time isn't real and reality is a lie. Fuck everything and especially a cactus.

Bruce hasn’t slept in two days. Hasn’t allowed himself the luxury, knowing that all the while Tim is trapped somewhere, waiting for Bruce to come save him and losing faith with every hour that passes. If he’s still alive at all.   
  
Bruce has made a point of not considering the possibility.   
  
And now, two nights since Tim was taken, Bruce has finally located him.   
  
The kidnappers had given him a gift just a few hours after Bruce first realized Tim was missing. It was dropped off at the police department, directly on Gordon’s desk with orders to pass it on to the Dark Knight. A videotape accompanied by a bloodied R symbol, torn right from the Robin suit.   
  
The men wanted a ransom —assuming correctly that someone with as many gadgets as Batman had to be loaded, that Joker was a trigger due to rumors of how the last Robin died, and that Batman would do anything to get him back. They hit every stop.   
  
All in all, it wasn’t a terrible plan, Bruce thinks. Four out of five stars. If only the kidnappers had thought ahead to disguise the background in their ransom video, which was a solid fifteen minutes Bruce had to endure, watching his Robin getting beaten senseless. The kidnappers’ pleasant way of showing exactly what would happen should Bruce not give in to their demands.   
  
Tim’s been trained well, and thus never let out a peep. Not even when Bruce heard cracks over the feed that had to be ribs. He took every hit, every scrape with a silent resignation. It was hard to watch.   
  
His mask was still on due to the failsafes put in place and the simple assumption that those men couldn’t care less who Batman and Robin are. They already had what they needed for their plan to work. Putting in any more effort than that would be overtime.   
  
From the footage, Bruce recognized the layout of the house they were in: somewhere in what passes for rural Gotham. After that, it was a simple algorithm and a pilfer of Gotham residence blueprints to narrow it down to the place Tim was being kept in.   
  
Which brings him to now.   
  
All of the men are unconscious upstairs, one of whom was kind enough to confess where Robin was being kept five seconds before Bruce punched his face in. The basement is small and dark; every bit the prison cell it’s served as.   
  
It’s against the back wall where he finds a tiny figure curled in on itself—messy black hair poking up from the top of the bundle. His cape is missing, and Bruce sees shreds of it wrapped around his injuries. Resourceful kid.   
  
The moment Bruce steps into the room, Tim’s head jerks up. At first his eyes are wide with an expectant panic that shouldn’t pain Bruce’s soul as much as it does. Then he seems to realize who it is and all of the tension in his body fades at once. “Bru—Batman,” he breathes.   
  
“Hey, chum. You okay?”   
  
Tim doesn’t nod. Not right away. “My r-right ankle is broken and there’s a stab—stab wound in the other leg. And I think I have a concussion.” He blinks a few times, like his brain has been all fogged up. But the relief at Bruce’s arrival is clear.   
  
Bruce nods as he comes over and kneels in front of Tim. He takes off Tim’s mask, revealing baby blues. One of them is swollen, but Tim’s gaze is focused. “We’ll fix you up when we get back to the cave. Just hang tight while I get you out of here.”   
  
Tim raises his wrists, from which a heavy pair of chains hangs. There’s blood crusting down to Tim’s hands, which sends a harpoon straight through Bruce’s heart. The skin around the shackles has been scraped raw, and Bruce can’t imagine how long Tim had been struggling to escape before he gave up.   
  
He tries to be as gentle as he can while he picks the lock of the first one, but Tim’s lips press together so tightly they’re white. “I know, I’m sorry, just hang on,” Bruce murmurs. Finally the latch releases, and Tim’s hand is free.   
  
Without the cuff Bruce can see the full extent of the damage, and he winces in sympathy. Tim is going to be wearing long sleeves for a while. He gets to work on the other one, wanting to get Tim out of this place as quickly as possible.   
  
A quick glance shows that Tim’s eyelids are drooping, so Bruce pats the unbruised portion of his face lightly. “Hey. Stay awake, okay?”   
  
Tim nods groggily. “‘Kay.”   
  
“Did they drug you?”   
  
Another droopy nod. “They gave me...something. Dunno what. Made me tired.”   
  
“Well stay awake for me, alright? You can sleep when we get back.”   
  
Tim hums. When Bruce is sure he’s not going to start fading out again, he goes back to picking the second cuff.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Tim says suddenly.   
  
Bruce doesn’t look up. “For what?”   
  
“Y’know. I got captured.”   
  
“That’s not your fault.”   
  
“I tried to fight them off,” Tim continues, almost like he didn’t hear Bruce. “I really did. But my—my leg hurt and they were so much _ stronger _ than me, and—”   
  
“Robin.” This time, Bruce meets his eyes directly. Unyielding. “None of this was your fault. These things happen.”   
  
“But you...you trained me to be better than this. Robins don’t get kidnapped.” _ That definitely isn’t true, _ Bruce doesn’t say. Tim swallows thickly, and Bruce can see the eye that isn’t swollen shut welling with tears. “I’m gonna do better,” he promises. “I’ll work harder. I’ll—”   
  
The second cuff falls to the ground, scraping Tim’s wrist on the way down. He squeaks through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. The moment he’s freed, Bruce stoops low to lift Tim into his arms. He tries his best not to listen to Tim’s whimper as his broken ankle is moved. “Sorry, I know it hurts,” Bruce soothes. “We’ll get you some painkillers soon, bud.”   
  
It says a lot about the pain Tim is in that he doesn’t even protest as he’s carried out of the basement. He’s so much lighter than Jason was. Tim’s eyes linger on the unconscious men littering the ground on their way out. “Shouldn’t we—” He hisses as one of his broken ribs gets jostled. “Shouldn’t we stay to...deal with these creeps?”   
  
“No.” Bruce doesn’t even hesitate. “You’re injured, so the priority is getting you back so Alfred can check you out.”   
  
“But the—”   
  
“The authorities are already on their way. It’s alright.” Tim doesn’t appear remotely finished, but he backs down anyway. When they reach the Batmobile, Bruce deposits Tim gently in the front seat. Tim doesn’t say a word when Bruce starts the car and begins the drive back to the manor.   
  
“They didn’t take your mask off, did they?”   
  
Tim shakes his head. “Shocked ‘em every time they tried. And I wouldn’t do it when they asked me to.” He rubs a hand over one of the bruises on his collarbone, and Bruce’s heart aches.   
  
“You did good,” he says, watching from the corner of his vision as Tim melts deeper into his seat the longer they drive. “I’m proud of you.”   
  
Tim snorts. How he manages to make even that sound tired is a mystery.   
  
“What?”   
  
“You don’t need t’coddle me, B. I know I screwed up.”   
  
“How many times do I have to tell you this wasn’t your fault for you to believe me?”   
  
Tim’s head lolls against the headrest, and Bruce wonders exactly how much those guys drugged him up. “I was s’posed to go back to the car like you said. But...I didn’t. And karma made sure I got hurt for it.”   
  
“That wasn’t karma, Tim, that was life. Stuff happens. What’s important is that you kept your cool, you kept your identity a secret, and you stayed alive until I came for you. I’d call that a job well done.” Tim is silent. “A big part of this job is knowing when to be hard on yourself. But it’s also knowing when you did the best you could in a given situation.”   
  
Tim pokes at one of his blood-crusted wrists. “You would’ve gotten free and knocked out everyone in that house in like...ten minutes.”   
  
“But you’re not me. You’re you. We each have different strengths, and that’s why we’re partners.”   
  
Tim hums and he lowers his hands, eyelids starting to droop again. Bruce taps his knee, and Tim picks his head up. “Sorry,” he says. “I’ll...stay awake.”   
  
“Maybe you should stay at the manor tonight,” Bruce decides. “Sleep off whatever you were drugged with.”   
  
“Mm-hm.” Tim’s eyes close, but he’s not drifting off this time. He exhales deeply through his nose. “Did...Did they even notice I was gone?”   
  
“Who?”   
  
His eyes shift to the side. “My parents.” Bruce tightens his hands on the wheel. After a moment Tim sighs and drops his head back. “Figures.”   
  
“They…” Bruce fumbles for something comforting to say. Is there anything he could tell Tim that wouldn’t just hurt more? Because Tim is right. His parents never noticed. They came back from one trip and left for another the next day without realizing for even a second that their _son _ wasn’t there.   
  
Tim’s hand comes up and he swipes his sleeve over his cheek. “S’fine,” he says, voice scratchy. “Fine.”   
  
“I noticed,” Bruce offers. “I noticed you were gone. I felt like I was going to go crazy until I knew you were safe.”   
  
Tim lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. His eyes are set on the windshield ahead, but they’re glazed. “I just wanna go home.”   
  
“I told you we’re stopping at the manor first.”   
  
“S’what I said,” Tim mutters. He leans over and, before Bruce can process it, Tim’s pillowed his head on Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce isn’t sure Tim even knows he’s done it. He doesn’t dare point it out, afraid that Tim will pull back.   
  
“Okay,” he says instead, listening to Tim’s quiet breaths. “I’ll take you home, buddy.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [Feel free to mosey on down to my Tumblr!](http://sohotthateveryonedied.tumblr.com/)


End file.
